


Bodies of Change

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Clothing, Date Night, Kissing, Other, pretty much just menswear porn, the power of clothing, they both have some body image issues, they're pretty minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: It's a new world, and Aziraphale is a new angel. Well, not really, but he decides it's time to try something a bit more modern in the clothes department. And hopefully, in the process, impress his snazzy boyfriend on date night.A little story about the power of clothing, not always loving your corporeal body, and having a partner who *definitely* loves said corporeal body.





	Bodies of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this story is a paen to my love of clothing, and my love of looking at everything through the lens of clothing/costume/textiles. I also wanted to write some body image stuff around Aziraphale and...this came out. I think he tries for body positivity, and gets there ninety percent of the time, but that last ten percent gets a little hard on him sometimes.  
(I also wanted to touch on Crowley -- whose body has not always been desirable -- and his body image thoughts too, although this takes up considerably less text.)  
And, of course, there is kissing.

Aziraphale checked himself over one more time in the mirror. He went to adjust his tie, but of course he wasn't wearing one. And it wasn't like he had even not worn a tie before. He predated the invention of neckwear by _millennia_. 

It had just...been a few centuries. One got  _used_ to things.

But it was a new world now, and he was a new angel – sort of – who tried  _new things_ . Especially if he was pretty sure the new thing would make his demon-boyfriend-husband-whatever Crowley was stumble over his own feet and make an a-WHOOGA sound like a cartoon.

Nudity had gone over an absolute treat, so Aziraphale had decided to try a snazzy new date outfit. 

He and the nice young men at the shop had taken to each other like ducks to water. He'd been charmed when his carefully-mended century-old waistcoat had caused Tarquin in particular to nearly weep, and he'd promised to bring some more of his antique pieces by so they could all study them, take pictures and notes and things. It had all been very encouraging to a frumpy old angel.

They had done him up nicely, he had to admit. Dark grays and blues and a pink pocket square. Everything off-the-rack for expediency, with just a little tailoring here and there to give him the perfect break in his instep, his cuffs (buttoned, no cufflinks) falling to just the right spot on his wrist. It was all very...body-skimming, but the handsomest of the men at the shop had assured him that he was both on-trend and wore it well.

“You don't think...?” Aziraphale had patted his stomach.

Daniel gave him a  _blistering_ look. “ _No_ . Do not finish that sentence, Mr. Fell.” 

“Attractive, well-fitted clothing is for _everyone_,” Sebastian piped up. “Oh, Edwin, the tartan! We should – with this – ?” He held a lovely swatch of said tartan up to Aziraphale's collar. The main colour field was dark blue, set off with beautiful shades of red and white and deep forest green. “An autumn jacket, perhaps?”

Aziraphale touched the soft wool and smiled. “A jacket may be a bit much. A scarf, though?” 

“A scarf it will be,” he promised, and made a note in the book. “And Daniel is right. You look smashing, sir, don't change a thing about yourself.”

Aziraphale, a little to his surprise, glowed under the praise. Literally. Faintly, but Daniel did give him an odd look until he remembered himself and turned it off. 

That had been just a week ago, and tonight he'd recreated their careful movements when getting dressed. The new underwear that accommodated the closer-cut trousers. Said trousers which were  _ quite _ snug, although not too...revealing.  The shirt that was meant to be seen, not hidden under a waistcoat. (Though he'd bought a new one of those, too. Golden, with a dark gray windowpane check. Tarquin had helped him find it, and was perhaps even now making the small adjustments that would let Aziraphale wear it like a second skin. That would debut on the next date, of course.)

Aziraphale left the collar buttons open on his shirt, showing a vee of skin at his neck that had not been seen by the public in centuries. A sport coat with  _five_ buttons on the wrist, which buttoned in just the right spot across his front. And, of course, the pocket square, the bright, pale color shocking against the dark fabric of the jacket. Aziraphale wore his signet ring and tried not to miss his pocketwatch. This was a special occasion; he had no need to worry about time.

He took one last critical look at himself, from neat curls to freshly-shined shoes, and hoped he was acceptable. He hoped so badly.

At least Crowley was pretty much on time, so Aziraphale could only indulge in limited fretting. He may have arranged things that way because, again: growing as a person. Angel. Whatever.  


“All right angel, let's get a wiggle on!” Crowley called out as he let himself into the locked shop because A) locks didn't mean much for him, B) Aziraphale had given him his own key about ten minutes after he'd opened up on account of he wasn't stupid and C) Crowley was never going to let him forget the wiggle on thing.

“Coming!” Aziraphale called, checked the mirror one more time, buttoned his jacket, unbuttoned his jacket, remembered what the men had told him and buttoned one of the buttons, and finally jogged downstairs. It would have been a glorious entrance if there weren't dusty books stacked everywhere.

“Vanity's a sin, isn't it ang-_hooooomySatan_ who are you and what have you done with my angel?” Crowley took his sunglasses off. “_Aziraphale_?”

Aziraphale scowled. “You needn't make it a joke. I simply went clothes shopping. I do that sometimes.” He stood more stiffly than usual. “Shall I change back? I should change. This was foolish...”

“Angel, I swear to G- _anyone_, if you go back upstairs and put on anything else whatsoever, I will walk out of this shop and go to sleep for another century,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale bit his lip. “They said at the shop that this flattered me,” he said unsteadily.

“Wrong,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale wilted before his eyes. “_No_ you ninny,” he said, holding up a hand. “Wrong, 'cause it's the other way 'round. You flatter those clothes. They're lucky to be on _you_.” He groaned, and buried his head in one hand. “Right, all right. Let's start over again.” He rubbed his face while Aziraphale tried to catch up.

“You look wonderful.” Crowley's voice was so gentle it was actually worse than his teasing. “Angel, you look so handsome. I love it. Did you do this for our date?”

“Ah. Well. It's just that you always make an effort – lowercase e, ahaha – it only seemed fair that I...match you.” Aziraphale managed a tentative smile. “Make it look like I _ought_ to be on your arm.”

“You look like that all the time,” Crowley said. “Because I don't want anyone else on my arm, ever. Wouldn't ever.” He finally came to his sense enough to cross the room and greet Aziraphale with a kiss. “Where did you go?”

Aziraphale gave him the name of the shop, and Crowley nodded. “Wonderful work, there.” He smoothed Aziraphale's jacket lapels. “Is this a new look, then?”

“Not for all the time. Just. Special times.” Aziraphale smiled shyly. “I've still got my antiques upstairs.”

“Good,” Crowley said. “They suit you. And they make you happy, but I repeat myself.” He offered Aziraphale his arm, and made sure to tuck him close, patting his hand. “Come on, angel. Your chariot awaits.”

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley liked how he looked.  _He_ liked how he looked. Maybe this would all go off okay, after all.

Crowley was so overcome he only doubled the speed limit to get them to their dinner reservations. Aziraphale tried to encourage this newfound sense by only screaming very quietly, and being very polite when he asked Crowley to watch out for pedestrians.

This was a new spot, one they were both quite looking forward to, and they were shown to their table in a private little nook. The light was low and golden, and Aziraphale admired how it caught the flame red in Crowley's hair.

“You really do look wonderful,” Crowley murmured, holding out his hand. “They treat you right?”

“They were all wonderful,” Aziraphale assured him, and he smiled, ducking his head a little. “Didn't even mind my gut.”

“Well I'd bloody well _hope_ not,” Crowley said fiercely. “Oh, angel. You're not still worried about that?”

Aziraphale had told him about Gabriel's little jab months ago, on a day he'd felt low. Crowley had been so angry he had brought down half the Tube lines, given everyone in London named Gabriel a headache, and then stomped to the nearest decent bakery to buy a box of Aziraphale's favourite pastries. By the time he'd stomped back, Aziraphale had gone from 'a bit self-conscious' to 'actually quite confused but not thinking about my tum', so Crowley took it.

He had also made sure to let Aziraphale know  _precisely_ how much Crowley loved his body, and how beautiful it was, and also that Gabriel was a shallow douchenozzle.

“No! I mean, not exactly. Not the way I was.” Aziraphale half-smiled. “I know I don't have a fashionable body, though. I haven't tried to dress it, in this new mode. But they were lovely. Told me I shouldn't change at all.”

Crowley smiled, and set a few demonic workings in motion. Men who had too much money and were just going to buy another second home were instead suddenly seized with a deep and abiding need to spend it at a certain shop. It'd pay their rent for the year, when Crowley was done with things.

“Long as you know you're perfect,” Crowley said, so softly Aziraphale almost wondered if he'd heard it. He changed the topic right away, of course, but being Crowley, he couldn't help but be gentle. (Aziraphale knew pretty well that he was the only being who thought this way, but also, he was right.)

Their dinner was wonderful, and pudding absolutely scrumptious, all complemented by an excellent wine list. The conversation was good, the company even better, and Aziraphale loved every second of it. He lost himself in physicality – the rich flavours of dinner, the sweet pudding, wines complementing every course. Crowley's hand was familiar in his own, the two of them reaching for each other, holding hands atop the table whenever they had the chance. Aziraphale loved to brush his thumb over Crowley's knuckles, and Crowley often touched his signet ring, tracing the smooth metal.

His new clothes were very comfortable. The tight-fitting drawers were a new sensation, but one he quite enjoyed, he found. And it wasn't like he hadn't worn close-fitting garments before – he remembered hose fondly. His trousers were tight across his thighs, but not uncomfortably so, and his jacket was wonderfully comfortable. Perhaps not quite as comfortable as the one he'd worn for near two centuries, but it would do nicely. And someday this one would be two centuries old as well, full of memory and love, the way all his favourite clothes were.

When dinner was over they walked a little. They'd had to come out a few zones, and the streets here were leafy and quiet. Crowley had offered Aziraphale his arm again, gentleman that he was on occasion, but Aziraphale had taken his hand, feeling unaccountably bold, and so they walked through the quiet night with fingers interlaced.

They paused just beyond the glow of a streetlight to kiss. Aziraphale stretched his arms up, looping them around Crowley's shoulders. He loved their slight height difference; the way he had to tilt his head up, just a little, stretch just a touch while Crowley leaned down and they met in the middle. It was a matter of centimeters, but it changed their bodies, made the feeling special. (Unless, of course, Crowley was wearing heels. Then it was a matter of a number of centimeters, or Aziraphale standing on a step.)

Aziraphale savoured every sensation, the way he'd savoured their dinner. Crowley's arms around his waist, their bellies pressed together. Crowley's body was slender and hard, and Aziraphale suspected he was maybe more gentle than he needed to be at times, worried about the feel of his hipbones pressing into Aziraphale's body. He needn't have worried, as Aziraphale told him one thousand times, and would tell him one thousand more. He loved Crowley's body, all his softness hidden away behind snakey hips and ribs that Aziraphale's fingers skittered over. He loved how his beloved looked, and made sure to tell him so, regularly.

There were times when he wasn't sure how he felt about his own corporation, but Crowley's was easy – he loved it in every season, every hour, every fashionable clothing change. 

“You're so handsome,” Crowley whispered to him. “Don't want to take my hands off of you. Angel, you're so perfect.”

Aziraphale smiled into the kiss. Crowley loved Aziraphale's body infinitely, and what a gift that was. 

“Your place or mine?” he asked softly. It was fun to make out like teenagers on a street, but also entirely silly. They had sofas, and bottles of port, and _beds_, vast cozy glorious beds where they could wrap around each other and sleep or not, at they liked.

“Mine?” Crowley asked. “I've got a new sound system I want to try out. And whiskey.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his cheek. “That sounds wonderful, darling.”

Crowley kept an arm around his waist all the way back to the car, and every time Aziraphale looked over, Crowley was gazing at him, a little smile on his face. Aziraphale felt lovely and loved, his demon boy holding him close, openly adoring. 

The next morning, even before he got out of bed and Crowley was still asleep and using his thigh as a pillow, he sent the tailor shop flowers, just as a little thank-you.

**Author's Note:**

> A high-end tailor's shop full of body-positive, vintage-loving salesmen with posh names is *maybe* my favourite creation of all time. (I think a lot about how much a vintage enthusiast, encountering Aziraphale's well-cared-for wardrobe, would just start screaming with joy and maybe never stop.)
> 
> Aziraphale's new outfit mostly exists in the garden of our imaginations, but I got the general shapes, colours and articles from what Michael Sheen wore on the Graham Norton show, because he looked lovely and also I am *terrible* at modern menswear.
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com.


End file.
